The Yule Ball

Or As Close As I'm Going to Get

Anyone who knows me knows of my unyielding and exuberant love for Harry Potter (I mean, I sewed myself a Ravenclaw robe, for goodness sake). Growing up, I thought of myself as Hermione (just a little quieter), and I waited with more than a little actual belief for my Hogwarts letter to come. I have always been completely enamored of the series, especially the completely magical Yule Ball from the fourth book. At home, in high school and even at Wellesley we never had any truly black-tie formal events, and certainly no winter formals where everything was festive and frosted, and I think that’s why I loved the idea of the Yule Ball so much (because, let’s be real, aside from the Waltz at the beginning and the whole magic aspect, it’s fairly similar to Prom). Winter itself has always felt sort of magical to me, so the idea of getting dressed up in the winter, and of dancing around in a ballroom covered with snow and silvery ornaments, and frosted ‘ice’ decorations seemed so perfect and wonderful.

Well, of course, coming to study in England, I got my wish! My residence, Devonshire Hall, threw a Christmas Ball on December 2, and it was amazing! 

I’m not entirely sure what to say about it, aside from the fact that it was like English Winter Prom. My friends and I had pre-drinks at the residence, then decided it would be fun and exciting to take the bus into the City Center (ahem, “Centre”) to the hotel. Of course the bus was late. So late, in fact, that we decided to just take a different bus, assuming it would let us off near-ish to where we needed to be. Hahahaha. Never assume, friends. At least, not when it comes to public transport. When we got to the threshold of the city center, we decided to wait just one more stop, thinking we’d get a few blocks closer rather than walk in our heels. Instead of moving a block or two closer to the hotel, the bus turned, and drove numerous blocks in the opposite direction of the hotel. 

Our smiles and hearts sank as we realized what was happening. We hurriedly got off at the next stop, and luckily, one of my friends knew where she was going (I honestly had no idea where we were at that point). With the bus having been so behind, and now being on the other side of the city from where we needed to be, we were running quite late, so we had to start booking it a little bit so that we could make it before the meal started. 

Running through town because we took the wrong bus, whoops

We got to the hotel, breathless, and by the time we got there the arrival drinks were quite watered down from the melted ice, but we were just in time to enter the ballroom and sit down for dinner! It was a yummy though unmemorable dinner, bacon-wrapped chicken that was quite light on the bacon and some veggies (potatoes? maybe carrots? definitely brussels sprouts, but I didn’t eat those, yuck), and a massive brownie and mini minced pies for dessert. It was nice, and there was free wine. Lots of free wine. I think our table of 10 went through like 6 bottles of wine (mostly drunk by my 4 friends and I, to be honest). We were nice and warm and floaty by the end of dinner, when the live jazz music finished up and they put on the club music. 

We waited in line for quite a while to use the photo-booth, and we did lots of dancing. Honestly, I’ve always found it weird to dance to club music while in formal wear, I always have. So, towards the end of the night, I decided to request “Dancing in the Moonlight”, and the DJ was so keen on my request that he played retro disco music for the next 1.5 hours. It was the best. So much more fun to dance to than electronic mishmash of sounds or the “Top 40”. 

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, the Brits are born partiers. There were people who got up on the tables to dance, there were people holding entire wine bottles while dancing on the dance floor. It was a wild time. At 1 AM the Ball was over and we all turned back into pumpkins (kidding), and we took a cab back home. It was a Tuesday after all. It seemed that most everyone else went to the “official afterparty” at one of the nearby clubs, which was scheduled to go until 4 AM. The stamina of the Brits for partying astounds and worries me. 

Overall, it was a lovely time, and a great way for me to fulfil my dream of going to the Yule Ball, just sans magic (unfortunately). 

Micro Post No.5

Hey guys, more proof that I'm feeding myself! I'm actually pretty proud of this one, I'm not gonna lie. It's baked salmon with dill and lemon, and roasted potatoes and onions! I know! Fancy!

Anyways, I know I haven't posted in a while, but it's been a crazy few weeks for me. I went to Rome (pictures and posts to come!) and for the past two weeks it has been paper-writing season for me! Needless to say, with me holed up in the library writing papers, I haven't had much time or inclination to write blog posts that will do my adventures any justice. But just know that they are coming and you should be excited!

Micro Post No. 4

More pasta, yeah! A veggie-filled red wine sauce, complimented by a nice glass of red wine!

Micro Post No. 3

Today for dinner I ventured into the land of seafood. I made pan fried fish cakes, of which I was quite proud. I even made a little dipping sauce by mixing some dried dill with yogurt. It was quite tasty! I had enough of the goop to make 8 total fish cakes, so I'll make two for each dinner I have. The trick is eating a smaller amount of something new and fresh with a bowl of instant couscous, which fills me up and compliments most things quite nicely. Instant couscous gives me life. (But I'm sure I'll be sick of it by the time I get home...)

The "cakes" crumbled a little in the frying pan, whoops. 

Micro Post No. 2

Did some more cooking in bulk. This time it was roasted sausage, peppers, onions, and potatoes. I eat it with instant couscous usually.

The Curious Case of the Rain in the Nighttime and the Not So Silent Disco

I endured a few days of dull and repetitive meetings about rules and regulations and all sorts of other expectations. Though, these meetings weren’t quite as dull as Wellesley’s because they all had free wine—a nice touch. Meetings here seem to go a little differently than the dorm meetings back at Wellesley. For example, we had a meeting for all new students living in Devonshire the other day (so it was mostly Freshers). This, like most meetings and pamphlets I had encountered so far, outlined mostly the same things about safety, common sense, and various rules to be followed. What I found exceptionally strange, however, was the way the staff decided to demonstrate the lock your door constantly “suggestion”: at one point during the meeting full of several hundred students, the president of Devonshire displayed several items taken by sub wardens from rooms left unlocked by students. You either had to publicly claim the item or the staff got to keep it! It was sort of shocking and felt like a violation of privacy. I mean, I guess it taught those students to lock their doors, but still, that feels a little extreme. 

After a few days of meetings, however, my friends and I were able to let loose a little at a silent disco! For those of you who don’t know what a silent disco is, essentially it is like any sort of club or disco, but instead of blasting the music through speakers, everyone wheres bluetooth headphones, thus making the club “silent” allegedly. It was loads of fun, possibly even better than the roller disco! There were two DJs each playing different music, and you could switch between the two channels on your headphones. Both DJs played great music as well—everything from classic bass-heavy dance music, to 80’s ballads, to early 2K pop throw backs, to The Lion King. It was amazing. And one of the best parts was taking off your headphones, and watching everyone dancing neon lights, singing along to music that wasn’t actually playing. I took a video, dedicated to Vickey (we’ll get to 30,000 plays!), of a what it looked and sounded like when a Linkin Park song came on. You can see that, even thought the music isn’t pumping through the air, the “silent” disco is fairly noisy.

We finally left when it became just a tad too crowded, and started to make our way back home. One of my friends, Sara, said that in just 2.5 hours, we had taken about 9,000 steps according to her step counting watch. Needless to say, we were starving. Luckily there are several late night restaurants on our way home. We ended up stopping at this place called Mahmood’s (except the o’s in the sign were silhouettes of burgers), which served a mixture of knock off McDonald’s and KFC combined. We ordered our 2 am burgers, which were beyond satisfying. As we sat there at the counter, eating in silence, I stared at the off-brand KFC they were selling in boxes plastered with a happy rooster giving you the thumbs up and a slogan stating it was “lip lickin flavour”. It was a poignant moment: 2 in the morning, silently eating warm, satisfying, yet also gross burgers, and staring at an imposter rooster on a cardboard box. 

We finished up quickly and headed towards Devonshire, but halfway back to the residence, it started to precipitate. Then it started to precipitate harder. Now, I had checked the forecast, and it was only a 20% chance of rain that night. Yet, as we were walking down the street, we found ourselves cowering under a tree, as the rain started to fall in thicker, heavier drops. Even though it’s only September, this was not a warm rain. At home, when it rains in the the summer, it’s not always unpleasant: if might be a welcome relief to the sweltering, swampy weather, a warm shower that feels like a present from Mother Nature, cleaning out the gunk from the air. The rain in England, where it is perpetually fall, is cold. It makes you and everything around you damp and chilly. 

So there we were under a tree, which was becoming increasingly insufficient coverage, facing a decision to wait or to forge ahead. The catch was that it was 2:30 am by this point, and I had a meeting at 10 am the next day, so we couldn’t really afford to wait long. Of course, we continued, and of course, about 2 minutes in the rain became even stronger. By the time we reached the residence, my clothes and hair were soaked through, and I was chilled to the bone. The rain stopped just as we reached our courtyard (what else would I expect, though), and even though I took a steamy shower, I still woke up with a sore throat. C’est la vie…

Micro Post No.1

I cooked in bulk today. I made pasta that should last me 3 meals, including this one. Not too shabby I think.

So What's a "Fresher"?

As I wrote in my previous post, all of the local “Freshers” moved in over the past few days, and last night was the official kick off to Fresher’s week. Needless to say, it’s been beyond crazy.

Here in the UK Fresher’s Week is a *Big Deal*. I’d heard it mentioned in documentaries about Will and Kate (yes, go ahead, mock) or English movies and TV shows, but I had no idea what it was really about. It’s an odd thing to experience, especially since we don’t really have anything like it in America. Back home, students can’t legally drink when they first go off to college, and even though many find ways to consume alcohol before turning 21, there aren’t any mammoth sized celebrations intended to let you blow off steam and get partying and drinking out of your system before classes start. 

I thought I’d be prepared, since I’d been to a frat party before, but I’ve never seen anything on this scale. Every single night for a week and a half there are at least 2-3 parties running until 3 am that are free to £5 for entrance, organizations and dorms are practically giving away drinks, and students run amok in sweaty, skimpy clothing for as far as the eye can see. It’s truly wild. 

Last night, in honor of the opening of Fresher’s Week, the student union threw open their doors and invited students in to all 5-6 bars (or pubs), and 3-4 nightclubs. The air was seething with dance music for miles. Crowd control was a must, every surface in the area was sticky with God only knows what. 

My friends and I, however, started the night out with a glass of wine and headed over to the roller disco at 9:30 (we wanted to get an early start, and therefore an early end, to the night). It was loads of fun! We all strapped on our roller skates Jessica Simpson style (see video), and glided around the hall to the dulcet sounds of Avril Lavigne’s “Sk8er Boi” and “I Want You Back” by The Jackson 5. 

Although I feel and crashed in to some other innocent skaters, we all had a really good time, and headed down to one of the union pubs afterwards to listen to live acoustic music. I had a soda and found out that the English put lemon slices in their Coke! What a delightful surprise! I was a little suspicious at first, but I actually really liked the lemon, you could actually taste it a little bit in the Coke. 

New Friends! Judith, Petra, and Sara

We headed home at midnight, just as everyone else seemed to be arriving and queuing up at the entrance. As I said, it was a wild, wild time, and these Freshers, new to Uni life seem to have a whole lot they need to get out of their system. 

Austen Through the Leeds Glass

Though the culture shock has yet to subside, I feel as though I’m getting my sea legs slowly but surely. I’ve met some really great people (I’m not living alone guys, I swear!), and as Ryan said, I’ve formed my “International Squad” since I’ve yet to meet any true English students. The “Freshers” all just moved in today, so I’m sure I’ll be bumping into some local Brits soon enough, plus once everyone is on campus, there will be tens of thousands of local Brits all over the city. 

It’s only been a few days, but I’ve gone shopping without incident, I can get on the bus without causing a news worth pile up, and I finally got a UK phone number (I feel so official). Everyday, things are coming to me a little easier, but, don’t get me wrong, England is still a strange and foreign land. I know, who would have thought that the gray little kingdom across the pond could seem so exotic? To my American eyes, though, everything looks unfamiliar. Even though there is no language barrier, I am as disoriented as though I’d stepped through a mirror into a strange, off-center of my American reality. They sell almost all the same things as in the US, but the brands are different, the measurements are in metric, and the prices in £. And the most off-putting thing of all is the actual spoken language. “Sure” I thought, “I speak English, the UK will be perfect! No language barrier!” But after a day or two here, I quickly realized that while they speak English, it’s not really my English. There such a variance in vernacular and colloquialisms between British English and American English, that I constantly find myself asking clarifying questions, 

“And an aubergine is…?” “And you use washing powder for…your…dishes?” 

Even just the pronunciation of certain words has me asking people to repeat themselves (the Yorkshire accent can be thick and almost as garbled to my untrained ears as a thick Scottish or Irish accent at times!). Here's a video of what English speakers sound like to non-English speakers, and though I don't feel my understanding is quite so garbled, it still takes some adjustment of the ears!

There’s a lot to get used to. Certain items that I’m used to buying in bulk can only be bough in small, exorbitantly priced packages here. Everything is expensive here, really. In my residence, it costs £2.60 for one wash cycle and another £1 to dry! It’s when I start to convert the prices in my head that I start to get heart palpitations. I’m on a budget after all! The outrageous prices have got me learning to cut back in places, though: I’m buying less extraneous food, and I’m walking to and from Uni (yes, I said it, throw the inevitable jokes and comments at me), and even to and from the city center (or centre, now, I suppose), with arms and a backpack laden with groceries! After that, and the fact that I’m on a fourth floor walk up, I won’t even need the free gym membership that comes with my accommodations! My shoulders and calves haven’t stopped being sore since I got here, to be honest. 

While my food and commute situations are passable and fairly healthy, the bathrooms are interesting. The toilets are strange. Let’s leave it at that. The shower is a challenge. I’m on the top floor of an old building, which means that the eaves are an inescapable part of the architecture. In terms of the shower, this means that you kind of have to lean your head to the side while standing in there. It’s absolutely tiny, barely big enough to turn around in, and maybe 5 feet tall at its highest point of the ceiling slope. It’s rough. It makes me miss the hair-clogged drains of Wellesley’s showers. Actually, wait, no, strike that. 

There have been some really nice adjustments and shocks though. I’ve gotten to know several of my flatmates (the people who live on my floor and with whom I share a kitchen for those of you speaking American English) pretty well! The girl across the hall is Australian and she’s really friendly and helpful! There’s another Australian girl who I never see, a Swedish girl who is a health nut, a quiet and sweet Dutch girl who I’m quickly befriending, and two guys from Germany, one of whom is perfectly nice and normal, and the other of whom is a total enigma to me. He’s hard to pin down in words that one…

It’s a stark, but lovely contrast from Wellesley, where everyone kept there doors shut and never interacted with other people on their floor (unless they were already friends). Both of my years living in Tower, I never really knew who was living around me, aside from recognizing their faces in passing now and again. Whereas here, it’s just the opposite! I tend to eat breakfast with at least one or two of my flatmates, and yesterday, the German enigma cooked dinner for four of us! It was really nice to chat and share a home cooked meal! 

Another not unpleasant adjustment is the drinking age in England. While I’m still underage at home, here I can legally drink (though I do have to carry around my passport since my Illinois driver’s license doesn’t cut it abroad!). The second time I went grocery shopping, I did succumb to the temptation to purchase some alcohol, just for the thrill of it! Naturally, I bought the prettiest bottle of wine I could find. It’s a pink, sparkling moscato—sickly sweet and oh so girly. It’s really nice actually, with the types of pasta that I’ve been making (but then again, I’m not really a wine connoisseur…). I also went to my very first bar, or “pub” since I’m in jolly old England. The other night, some flatmates and I went out to a pub night hosted by our residence hall at a nearby pub. It was quite English, with dark maroon carpet, antler chandeliers, rugby and “football” (soccer) matches on, and a name like “Hyde Park Pub”. Though I didn’t have “a pint”, I did have some rather nice cocktails that were on Devonshire’s tab! This also happens to be where I met and bonded with several of my new international friends (who I’m not making up, I swear). 

In fact, we all have met up a few times since to watch movies and such. We all went to dinner with some other people just today at a Mediterranean cafe just down the street. It was delicious! I had Moroccan mint tea and a lamb tagine (like a curry-stew type thing), both of which were delicious. We all decided we’re probably going to a Fresher’s week roller disco tomorrow and we also bought tickets for a trip to Scarborough a week from tomorrow! 

Yummy and aesthetically pleasing mint tea!

Before I left for Leeds, I downloaded an app on my phone call “1 Second Everyday”, which takes 1 second of video for each day and stitches them together. I thought it would be a nice way to document my time abroad. What’s funny, is that I’ve found myself so busy with errands and my new friends that I haven’t taken a single video since I’ve gotten here! I guess that’s a good thing, though it will make for a rather short video at the end of the semester (I’ll feel a little like Ben Wyatt watching his claymation video, “Requiem for a Tuesday”). 

I’m having a good time. I met with my program director recently and he asked me if I regretted coming to Leeds, and I realized that I didn’t really. Even though everything here is really strange (more than I thought it would be), I’m enjoying the unfamiliar.  This blog has helped me with the transition, I think. Things are stressful and foreign and frustrating sometimes, but when I reflect on them and try to treat everything with a healthy sense of humor, it helps me feel like I'm doing ok, it helps me process what I'm experiencing and laugh off things that would normally eat at me. And even though, as the school keeps on reminding us (including via a rather interesting and detailed “dramedy” at the orientation meeting), this is just the “vacation” stage of culture shock, I’m not too terribly worried about the descent into the other, more despairing stages. I’ve got a few friends who I’m hoping will last, and I know it may get hard and it may be scary, but the only way to stop fearing things seems to be to face them head on (at least in my experience, and it’s worked so far!). Plus, I can do almost anything for 6 months, right?

Reverse Culture-Shock, who knew?

Jet Lag is for Real

Yesterday I barely made it to 6 pm before I passed out. I had enough time to unpack most of my things and make up my bed, but I was so exhausted that I had washed my face and put my pajamas on and climbed into bed by 3 pm. It was all I could do to keep my eyes open until a more reasonable hour. 

I woke up today after 15 hours of uninterrupted sleep. Every muscle in my body was sore, including my face, and I had a headache akin to what I imagine a hangover would create. It took my full will power to drag myself out of bed today, that and my insatiable hunger. I realized that I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast yesterday on my KLM flight (which was at like 7 am). I had thought about getting dinner yesterday, but I was so bone tired from being up for 30 hours straight, and dragging 60 pounds of luggage up 4 flights of stairs at what my body thought was 4 am (no one told me I would have a 4th floor walk up), and of course, jet lag.

I have a lot to do today, but I had to start with breakfast. One of the curses of being self-catered is that I can’t just roll out of bed and get breakfast or a snack whenever I want to. I found the closest cafe to my dorm and decided to go there no matter what the menu was. It turned out to be a super cute little cafe called “Clock Cafe”. Everything and everyone inside was very hipster and there were of course several clocks. My favorite part of the excursion was listening to people around me talking. I like the Leeds accent, it’s gruff and gravelly—the words sound really thick in your mouth, like molasses. Don’t think BBC, but more Neville Longbottom, but even thicker. 

The food was good too! I got a “Yorkshire Breakfast” and it was truly hearty and delicious! There was some interesting sausage and the “bacon” was more like ham than any bacon I’ve had before. The bread was a strange texture, but I really enjoyed it all! There were some delicious mushrooms and baked beans and hash browns! My first breakfast in Europe did not disappoint (and you know how much I love breakfast). 

I’ve never gone out to eat by myself before. I think next time I should bring something to do, more than just my phone and some ideas of what to write on this blog! It was kind of liberating though: going out on my own to a restaurant. 

What’s on the agenda for today? Mostly errands. I have to pick up my ID card and pick up papers and what not. I also have to buy some supplies for my room and some food of course. At some point soon, I’m also going to have to get a new SIM card so that I can send and receive texts and calls when outside of the school wifi area! We will see what I’ve got in me for today! 

Onwards and Upwards

Thoughts from Ports and Planes of the Air Variety

Part 1: Pre-Journey

So here I am. Waiting at the airport. Just waiting. The worst part and also the best. I am a rather anxious person and I hate sitting, just sitting, at the gate, waiting for what comes next. Yet, at the same time, I also find waiting at the terminal relaxing in a way. Perhaps I’m just exhausted, but I’ve always found that there’s something about passing through security, the absolute focus and presence of mind required, that induces a calm.

I’ve found a place near the wall of windows, watching luggage being loaded onto the plane and the distant rise and fall of planes in the distance. Their tails seem like shiny sails on the horizon of the opposite facing terminal as they taxi. 

***

I’m sitting here now, taking a quick breather before I go and gather some supplies for  the flight. Seeing as I’ll be landing in Amsterdam at 6:30 am local time (or 11:30 pm CST), I feel as though I should procure some breakfast now (who knows how long my layover will take!). Now, I haven’t flown internationally since I was a small child, so I had no recollection of the O’Hare international terminal, but let me tell you, it is fancy! All the shops here are high end, and I don’t just me “for an airport”, I mean it rivals Rodeo Drive. I’m talking diamond stores, a Chanel boutique, free standing Michael Kors and Gucci stores, and everything in between. It makes sense, I suppose, since everything here is tax and duty free, but some of these stores I’ve never seen before in my life, and here they are, at the airport of all places! It is strange though, some of these designer stores are selling clothing. Do people actually go shopping in these stores, try on clothing and then pack it in their luggage to get on the plane? That feels excessive, and yet slightly glamorous.

***

Wow, even the coffee shops are fancy in this terminal! I’m talking Italian roasts and beautiful little gems of pastries, not just a step or two up from Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts. The place is spelled “kōfê” that’s how fancy it is.”

***

The biggest thing I’m thinking about right now as I stare out on the Tarmac while doing purposeful, calming breathing to stave off nerves (or attempt to at least), is just how real this all it. This morning, even though I was packed and checked in, I still work up like a normal day and watched TV with my dog. Then, in a matter of a few hours, I’m facing the big wide world. It’s a realization that hit me like a concrete wall, suddenly there with an unmatched impact. I feel as though I’m in a Magritte painting, standing in my family room at home, but when I turn around, the fourth wall lead to Leeds, to something so big and unknown that I can’t even imagine it in the frame yet!

I’m sitting here, receiving an influx of well wishing texts, and I’m asking myself, am I ready? I’m holding on for dear life to all the “good luck” people are sending me, trying to grasp what I’m getting myself into and realizing that, ready or not, I’m on my way!

***

Part 2: Over the Ocean

So, I’m on the plane, and man is it cramped in economy. I always forget how much more cramped international long-haul flights are compared to smaller city hopper planes. I mean, I’m sitting here and my knees are touching the seat in front of me. I was barely apple to shove my backpack under the seat in front of me! Sure, they provide you with a little pillow and blanket, but my legs are cramping already. It’s gonna be a long 7 hours. 

But then again, I have spent 28 hours on a train before with just snacks, and no bathroom amenities available. It was rough, but I did it. I was able to sleep and I didn’t die. It wasn’t “all right” by any standards, but it wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life. So if I could do that, then this flight will be a piece of cake. 

***

I always forget just how noisy the interior of airplanes are. I have this mental image of lulling silence, perhaps just the whisper of cutting through the clouds. But then, I sit down and the air pumping through is deafening and the gravely sound of the captain’s announcement is always too loud or too quiet. 

I ended up listening to several episodes of This American Life, and found out that the Sprite on KLM tastes rather strange. Not unpalatable like diet soda, just bitter and off. Curious. 

***

I’ve decided that I really like KLM however. We got hot tea towels before dinner to freshen up. Nothing is more welcome in the chilly, dry, reconstituted air. Another plus, the girl next to me moved to a different seat, so now I have significantly more room! 

Dinner was a pleasant and satisfying surprise! Airplane food always seems to get a bad wrap and my only experience eating an actual meal mid air was when I went to the Philippines 11 years ago. We flew China Airlines and all I remember was that the eggs came with ketchup on them (yuck) and there was what I thought was Jello, but turned out to be salty gelatin with olives suspended in it (double yuck). When KLM brought out dinner, I received a warm and tasty veggie pasta, a small salad, a warm dinner roll, cheese and crackers, a small chilled bottle of water, and a yummy and heaping slice of carrot cake. It was a simple meal, yet somehow both aesthetically pleasing and delicious! Even the plastic silverware was nicely presented and of such a good quality that I briefly considered taking them with me (not a joke, I actually thought about it for longer than I should’ve). And the water bottle was so cute A convenient size and it had silhouettes of bicycles and wooden clogs (so Dutch) on the label! I feel so much better!

***

At home it would be 9:20 pm, and I’ve sleep in small doses for an hour or so, but there is a group of old women behind me who have been cackling and hitting the back of my seat and pulling it backward (why though?) throughout the night, despite the fact that the cabin lights are off and it is deadly silent. 

It’s really hitting me though, sitting in the dark on this plane, that when I land in 2 hours, I’ll be in Europe, a completely different continent, for the first time. I’ll have lost 7 hours somewhere out there over the ocean. It’s astounding. I feel like I’m in one of those cartoons where the map scrunched up and all of a sudden you’re at your destination, or like Mrs. Whosit and Mrs. Whatsit just grabbed me by the hand and pulled me through a wrinkle. 

I think the biggest thing that I’ve come to realize is that, objectively, I know that the rest of the world is out there and I have mental images of several place, but to an extent all those places only exist in theory or in the abstract to me. They don’t become real until I have a physical understand of the place. 

***

Part 3: Austen in Europe

Holy cow I’m in Europe. 

I thought it would me more different. But it isn’t. Looking from the plane window, I wouldn’t be able to tell where we were aside from all the signs, which are in Dutch. There were trees and highways with cars and streetlights. I think that unsettled me more than if I had landed amongst gingerbread houses and stone castles. It actually reminds me a little bit of Midway, though less urban. 

***

I’m sitting in Amsterdam Schiphol at my “gate” and I’m fairly certain I’m going to have to take a shuttle onto the tarmac to board my connection. Interesting. How Casablanca. Also, shoutout to Willow, Vickey, and Ryan for the comforting voice messages I found waiting for me when I was able to turn my wifi back on! You guys are incredible and I miss you loads!

***

Yup, I was right about the plane. A good pay off though since this short distance plane was much roomier than the long haul plane. 

The last real and truly stressful hurdle that I have to face now is immigration. I deeply regret not applying for my visa ahead of time no matter how much of a nuisance it seemed then. It would’ve given me so much more peace of mind now. But what’s done is done. I’m just hoping that they give me the correct visa stamp and don’t send me back to the US after 30 days (or immediately). Though, during my layover I ran through all of the scenarios that frighten me and none of them ends with me dying or homeless. So that’s a positive. It would be a set back, and I might honestly have a panic attack in the middle of the airport, but the Earth wouldn’t fall out of the sky and neither would I. 

***

While Schiphzl reminded me of Midway, Leeds Bradford reminds me of when I flew into Hartford, CT. So tiny, and in the middle of nowhere it seems. Surprising, really, considering how large Leeds is. 

But I got my visa without a hitch! Yeah, they let me! And I made it safe and sound to my room at Devonshire Hall! It’s a sweet little “flat” as they say, with a nice view of the courtyard. (There aren’t any screen on the windows, though, do I just let the bugs and birds fly inside?)